The Demon Problem
by AbsentDaydreamer
Summary: Sherlock Holmes, back from the dead and already being faced with new problems to solve. this time, a missing boy genius, a bodyguard who won't say a word, and it all hints at something impossible. Can Sherlock put aside his beliefs to solve the case?


**Hey! This idea occurred to me a while ago and I thought I'd test the waters with this first chapter :) Let me know what you think!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

I always believed in Sherlock Holmes. I knew he wasn't a fraud, I told him so that day that he jumped from the roof of St. Bartholomew's hospital, committing suicide. Well, I was right, wasn't I? Moriarty was the fake, pretending to be someone else who was pretending to be Moriarty.

Not that that makes... any sense. Anyway. Long story short, Sherlock Holmes is still the greatest man I have ever and probably will ever meet. Definitely the weirdest too, thinking about it. And he's alive. Somehow, he survived that fall.

I know I'm not making much sense right now, and I'm sorry, I really am, but I can't explain what happened to him. I don't know how he did it, how he jumped, survived and faked a body, because the bugger won't actually tell me yet. As per the usual, Sherlock likes to keep the mystery as exactly that, a mystery. I'm sure he'll explain it when he's ready to, as always, and that's when I'll explain it to you lot online. But right now, he says explaining it will ruin the 'sheer brilliance' of it,or something.

Jammy git.

Anyway, all I know is that Sherlock Holmes walked back into Baker Street one morning, happy as you please, dressed like some homeless bloke, and demanded I make him a cup of tea, as though nothing had happened. Like he hadn't been dead. You can guess my reaction. I mean I've seen some things in my time. I've seen death, and war, and cold blooded murder. I have been shot at. I have killed people myself, and I once had enough explosives to blow up a house, strapped to my chest.

But seeing him alive again, sprawled in his chair and looking up at me with his usual cold gaze... It scared the living daylights out of me. I genuinely believed I was looking at a ghost. Course, as soon as I realised that the sod was actually real, I let him know how I felt about the whole thing. I may have punched him. Maybe. But that's not all that important.

When I know the whole story, and when Sherlock lets me, I'll be sure to post it all up on here. But for now, just know that Sherlock Holmes is once again open for business.

Posted by :John Watson  
00.39am

Comment Thread:

SherlockHolmes: Eloquently put, John. Not a single thing that's actually of any use. A quaint welcome back, though.  
01.00am

MollyHooper: I'm so glad he's back safely xx  
07.23am

SherlockHolmes: John, be a dear and put the kettle on, we've got a client on the way.  
07.33am

Anonymous:So he survived after all. He owes me a dinner , don't you Sherlock? Xx  
07.49am

John Watson: Put your own kettle on. You're closer.  
07.54am

MollyHooper: Dinner? Who is that, Sherlock?  
07.56am

SherlockHolmes: Can't make my own tea. Duty calls. You've nothing better to do. Chop chop. And don't forget the milk this time.  
07.57am

* * *

"I'm sat right across from you." moaned John, his laptop resting on his thighs, his eyes on the figure sprawled in the opposite seat. Sherlock Holmes, back from the dead. The man didn't glance his way, just jumping up and straightening his dressing gown as he looked down through the window to the street below.

"I know you are." He answered steadily, holding back the curtain as his eyes took in the view. "You're also responding online."

"So?" John started to argue, but Sherlock suddenly twirled around and hurried to the door of the apartment, just as the doorbell rang downstairs.

"A client." He explained smoothly and John raised an sceptical eyebrow.

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson called up the stairs. "You've got another one of those people here to see you!"

John couldn't help a quick smile, before he shut his laptop and stood up.

"...I'll just leave you to it then."

"Sit down." Sherlock pulled a face, his tone snapping impatiently. John didn't take offence. "As I said before, I'd be nowhere without my blogger."

John was about to respond, but was interrupted by the arrival of two figures. The first was a woman, mid-thirties, Thin and graceful in her movements. Not that that gave John any inkling about her; but he was sure Sherlock had her whole life history straight away.

He did.

Married, a mother , recent recovery from mental illness, wealthy, has a son? Yes, a son. Dark rings under her blue eyes indicate a great deal of recent stress, lost weight recently, another indicator of stress.

The other figure was just as easy to read, thought Sherlock with a smirk as the man entered. Evidently the husband, prosthetic leg, old injury, war? No, not a soldier, judging by the gold ring he wore bearing the crest of...Fowl. The Fowl family. Irish. Old criminal family, turned humanitarian. Also under a great deal of stress, going grey though only mid-thirties/ early forties. Not entirely willing to be here, the way he lingers at the door, whereas Mrs Fowl stepped straight in indicating that she decided this. Family man. Stiff posture, suspicious.

Sherlock held back a smug smile as he indicated the chair.

"Mrs Fowl. Take a seat, you must be tired from your journey. Ireland is a fair way away, even by private jet."

John looked sharply to his friend. Clever as he was, he wasn't the greatest at talking to people, preferring to disconcert them and show off, rather than pretend to be normal and comforting.

The woman faltered for a moment, then forced a small smile.

"I told you he was good, darling." She spoke softly but firmly to her husband, who just narrowed his eyes slightly, back straight.

Sherlock inclined his head briefly, looking at the husband.

"How can I be of service?"

The man didn't respond for a moment, following his wife as she sat herself in Sherlock's chair, smiling nervously at John, who nodded a silent greeting. Mr Fowl placed himself on the arm of the chair, a hand on her shoulder almost protectively.

He pursed his lips, thinking, and then muttered,

"You are Mr Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes." Sherlock replied with his customary sang-froid, clasping his hands behind his back, his eyes surveying the couple intently. John watched silently, trying to decide whether or not the meeting was worth noting down. All depended on whether Sherlock liked the case, he supposed.

"The consulting detective." Mr Fowl confirmed, receiving a sharp , if somewhat impatient, nod. "The very best?"

"Most definitely the very best."Sherlock replied almost smugly, and John resisted the urge to roll his eyes, snorting quietly.

This drew Mr Fowl's attention, he stared at John suspiciously.

Sherlock quickly waved a hand.

"Doctor John Watson, my assistant and blogger. Don't mind him, he's as trustworthy as me, if not more."

Mrs Fowl seemed impatient, her foot tapping nervously, she took a deep breath.

"Please, can we just get started?" She asked quickly, and Sherlock inclined his head.

"I'm all ears, provided you tell the story honestly, efficiently and interestingly. If the case bores me, I won't take it." He said disinterestedly, and checked his watch. "You have...5 minutes. Go."

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**Hope you enjoyed so far, let me know what you think! And to those reading the Hunting Songs, the next chapter is on it's way, just some research being done :) **

**AbsentDaydreamer x**


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